


Sugar in the Boardroom

by EmpressMermalaid



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assistant!Marco, CEO!Jean, Jean is a jerk, M/M, Marco is an angel, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressMermalaid/pseuds/EmpressMermalaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had no idea they had already hired someone, hell, I had no idea they were even interviewing yet... but the one thing I did know, was that I absolutely, 100% despised him...</p><p>AU fic where Jean is the irritable CEO of New Sina City's most popular magazine brand, and Marco is his newly hired personal assistant. The evolution of this partnership is fraught with the butting of heads, a quest to discover the best brand of milk and just a little taste of something sweet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Hate Him.

If I became boss of the world, my first commandment would be to abolish stock progress meetings. Do bosses get “commandments”, I wonder? I wonder, if you were a boss of something as large as, say, everything in the world, whether you could simply call it whatever you want.

Probably.

I tapped my pen on the desk a few times and made the mistake of glancing at the clock, only to see that, despite Mike from accounts having gone through at least ten slides in his monochromatic presentation, no more than three minutes had passed. Three down... eighty seven left to go. I wondered briefly if I could simply walk out but that would most likely tarnish my reputation and I had worked very hard to get to this point in my career. That is to say the point where there was distinctly more people below me than above. 

I went for a lovely stroll through my mind while Mike's voice continued to quote figures and statistics. I went through day dreaming about cake, what life would be like if I were an astronaut, trying to deduct in my head how many sleeps it had been since I was promoted and what it would be like to live in a crazy world where I joined some manic military and got to kill, like, giants or something. 

As we filed out of the meeting I was caught at the elbow by Eren from Marketing. 

“Christa said she sent you an email earlier about this afternoon-” he stammered, juggling several folders with pages falling askew left, right and centre. Ahh, poor Eren. Levi had made him take notes again, I see.

“EREN!”

Levi stared at Eren and jerked his finger towards his office. Eren shot me an apologetic smile as he turned and just about fell over himself in an effort to run-without-running up the hallway. Levi, head of the Marketing department, was sitting cross-legged on an office chair, having scooted out of his office door to yell at his overworked personal assistant. “Overworked” wasn't quite the word - there was a running joke by the water cooler that it was more like “abuse” since, clearly, Eren was a masochist and seemed to love his job a little too much, even when he was being berated for buying the wrong type of sticky notes again. 

I went the other direction, down a few clean, crisp corridors until I came to my office. I closed the surprisingly light stained wood door behind me – I wasn't really in the mood to be disturbed by trivial matters today. Traffic had been unusually thick that morning, and the staff kitchen was out of full cream milk, so I had to use the low-fat stuff which didn't give my coffee as much body as it normally did – just little things that were starting to pile up in to one big ball of not-such-a-great-day. 

I remained standing, stretching in my dark navy suit as I logged in to my computer and brought up my emails. Christa, the cute, perky blonde from Reception had an impossibly eloquent and polite email waiting for me asking if I would be free after 3 PM today. There was a meet-and-greet she wanted me to attend. I hadn't heard anything about any clients coming today – guess it was a good thing I always dressed for the occasion anyway. I responded positively and watched the email send while stretching my hands above my head.

One last crack of my knuckles and I was ready to get serious. I pulled up my chair and started scanning my inbox. There was the usual filler – memos for all staff regarding the new regulations in the staff carpark, a few follow up requests from senior managers and one poorly worded, grammar nightmare of an email from Hanji. Her ecclectic style and personality made her perfect for the role of Chief Artistic Director but it was like she was so far on another planet in her mind that she couldn't even take the time to spell check her communications. 

“Hi Jaen,” it read, “jsut letting youk now that we h ave comfirmedd our full cekebrity guest lsit for the aPril issue, okease see eattached.”

I wondered if she ever got in trouble from HR for her horribly unprofessional writing. Probably not. The woman was a genius when it came to predicting popular turns in layout and design months before it happened. Coupled with her personable demeanour and the fact she knew every design program more intimately than the backs of her hands means she was a highly sought after commodity. No way would Survey Corp risk losing her.

He skimmed over the list of celebrities they had managed to secure for interviews for the March edition of “The Garrison”, a well respected and trendsetting entertainment and cultural magazine run out of the New Sina City office of Survey Corp. It was business as usual, though Jean noted that Hanji had managed to secure a few big names she had been working hard to bring in – she would be in a good mood from that. He could tell she was running on a high of inspiration since she had included a tonne of layout ideas and artistic impressions of ways we could organise the spreads. I tapped out a quick note of appreciation in response and told her to keep up the good work.

By the time I had gone through all of this morning's emails and dealt with them appropriately I glanced at the clock in the corner of my computer screen and was pleasantly surprised it was lunch time already. I grabbed the sandwich I made for myself at home this morning out of my desk drawer and ventured outside my office. Nobody paid me much mind as I made my way to the elevators, jabbing the key for the highest floor with satiated enthusiasm. Eating lunch in the warm midday sun sounded nice, and the roof top gardens were normally devoid of people as most employees preferred to head downstairs to buy lunch from some of the nearby cafes. 

The elevator dinged and stopped briskly and I took a step out into the refreshing outdoor air, the potted plants and trees stirring under a slight breeze. The roof was laid out for entertaining as the company often hosted gatherings and parties here – it was good for networking. Shiny wooden panelling created a curved walkway around fresh, buoyant plant arrangements in sleek metal planters with modern wooden cubes peppered around for seating. 

“Hey Eren,” I smiled, seeing a familiar mop of brown hair tucked in to his blazer. 

Eren was lying on one of the benches, head in his folded over jacket, scrolling through something on the smart phone he was holding above his head.

“Hey,” he said, and I could hear the fatigue in his voice.

“Long day?”

“You have no idea,” he groaned, sitting up, the back of his hair a mess. 

Eren began to smooth down his hair with quick strokes of his hand and I sat beside him, opening my sandwich and beginning to eat.

“First of all, I didn't get home until nine last night fixing all the problems with the new contracts we've had to draft up ourselves since the circulation department have no idea what they're doing. Then Levi sent me out to get the supplies for the kitchen first thing in the morning and I almost got rear ended by some maniac texting and driving and then, then,” he waved his hands for emphasis, “I get to the store and they're totally out of full cream milk so I had to buy all skim stuff so I cop an earful from Levi when I get back because he doesn't like “that shit” but what was I supposed to do? If I took the time to drive to the other shop on the other side of the city he would have yelled at me for taking so long...”

I understood where Levi was coming from. The milk Eren had bought in replacement for their usual stock was complete rubbish. 

“How’s your day been so far?” his eyes flicked back down to fiddling with his phone,while I talked casually about my fairly uninspiring day.

When he wasn't at Levi's heel, Eren was fairly decent company as far as work colleagues go. We idly discussed some empty, light topics – what we thought of the last edition, how he thought the football match that weekend was going to go – until Eren glanced back down as his phone. 

“Oh shit,” he said, noticing the time. He leapt to his feet, gathering up his belongings hastily. 

A sudden, overwhelming presence made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. 

“Eren, what time is it?” 

We both jumped as Levi's presence was suddenly at our backs. His arms were crossed and his lips were pressed in a thin, hard line. Despite his physical height, he towered above his assistant. He and I were more or less bureaucratically on the same level of the corporate ladder, though he had three times my experience and then some. I would be lying if I said I didn't respect the guy and he left me alone for the most part, as busy as he was with his own work. Plus, he had Eren to bully. 

Eren sucked in air sheepishly and squared his shoulders, a posture of neutrality that somehow still possessed an air of subservience. 

“One thiry-eight, sir,” he grimaced.

“And what time does your break end?”

“One thirty...”

Eren shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he smiled apologetically. 

“See me in my office in five minutes, I think we need to have a chat...” Levi left that nasty aura hanging in the air as he turned on his heel and walked back around the wooden pathway with an elegantly poised gait.

“Oopsie...” Eren whistled, glancing sidelong at me with a grin. 

“Good luck,” I drawled in a sing song voice at his retreating back.

The wind ruffled my hair and I stared at the second half of my handmade sandwich with sudden disdain. Cream cheese and raw onion? Really? And how did the bread go that soggy with only those two ingredients on it? What was I thinking? My taste buds recoiled in horror. I'd lived alone for how many years and I still couldn't make a goddamn decent sandwich?  
***  
The sun moving across the sky behind my back, glinting off my office window, was about as interesting as the work before me. The time ticked by painfully slowly, and I could have sworn my clocks were stopping for intervals of almost ten minutes at a time though they said it had only been two.

It got to fifteen minutes until three and I began to get restless. I wondered who I was supposed to be meeting today, and strained for a minute or two trying to remember any appointments or visits I may had forgotten. I even checked my diary. Physical diary and computer calendar. But, alas, there was no trace of any missing or forgotten sojourns anywhere. I spent so long fidgeting I jumped in fright when a tiny knock rapped smartly against my door. 

“Come in,” I said authoritatively, smoothing the front of my blazer.

“Excuse me...” Christa's bell-like voice sung out as she cautiously opened the door.

Her cropped blonde hair swung into the room like a halo, her almost unnaturally big blue eyes peeking around the wood. Her dewy almond skin was offset brilliantly by a shock of fuchsia lipstick that matched her vivid pink blouse. She smiled excitedly and looked behind her into the hallway at someone I couldn't see. 

The door was pulled wide and Christa moved in to the room, looking sharp in her intensely coloured outfit. Behind her stood a tall man with soft, rounded features wearing a meek but pleasant smile. His dark hair was coiffed in a soft wave and his cheeks were dusted with noticeable freckles that stood out on his fair olive skin which looked rich and smooth in a cream shirt and vest the shade of true Italian mocha. 

“Jean, this is your new personal assistant, Marco Bodt!” Christa beamed.

I knew HR had been planning to employ a personal assistant for me since I assumed my new role, something I was greatly looking forward to. Someone to lighten my work load and help out around the office was going to be great. Especially if she was a cute girl like Christa... I had no idea they'd hired someone, hell, I had no idea they'd even been interviewing people, though if I knew my colleagues, I knew they would have wanted to keep this on the down low as a surprise. Honestly, I was shocked completely that I hadn't even caught the faintest wind of this from anyone. 

“Hello, it's nice to meet you,” the man's voice was gentle yet held surprising presence in his formality. 

My eyes grew wide, eyebrows vacationing dangerously close to my hair line. People often described a deep, fluttering emotion upon seeing someone's face for the very first time, like a curling hot lick of flame against their insides. I knew I was feeling it. I knew there was no way I could escape it. One look was all that was needed to know...

I hated him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't already obvious... this fic has more or less been abandoned. I didn't have a solid idea of a direction I was wanting to go with it and then I got bored of it much quicker than expected... I don't want to straight orphan the work though because it's still part of the catalogue, but if you're expecting an update I can only offer you my sincerest apologies and direct you towards my more current works instead.
> 
> Just a reminder that you can see more of my shit in the following places:
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ladymermalaid)   
>  [Tumblr (main)](http://www.ladymermalaid.tumblr.com)   
>  [Tumblr (porny side blog)](http://www.empressmermalaid.tumblr.com)
> 
> Did you enjoy this fic? Chuck me a comment (even if it's just a single, solitary grunt) and you will fill me with such pride and vanity and appreciation I will have no choice but to write more and update more regularly to soak up more of that sweet, sweet recognition. It's that simple!


	2. No, Really, I Absolutely Hate Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is a huge jerk and Marco is a saint. But will Jean ever be able to break his new assistant?

As a world renowned celebrity, Thomas Wagner was used to the typical routine of magazine interviews. It was always a casual affair, usually conducted over a cup of coffee with a reporter running down a list of questions, making casual conversations, and hoping he would drop some information that would make for a juicy article. 

But this… no-one could have ever prepared him for this day. When he heard he was going to be interviewed by the controversial and prolific Mikasa Ackerman he had expected her to be hawk-like in nature, prodding and poking him constantly in clever, sharp-edged ways, always trying to trick him in to revealing more information than he wanted in the public domain. She was famed for breaking huge stories – affairs, corporate transgressions, secret relationships. It was whispered along the grapevine that she _had a way of making you talk_. 

Thomas thought that made her sound more like a KGB operative than an entertainment news reporter. So when he was lead in to the modern, stylish conference room in the Survey Corp building he was expecting to see some woman with a hard lined face and beady eyes.

Instead, he was surprised to find a very soft looking woman before him, staring up at him from behind a thick red scarf with rather unsettlingly blank eyes. She had the aura of somebody serious, but seeing her sitting there, twirling a pen between her fingers, didn’t seem intimidating at all. Perhaps the rumours of her competence had been greatly exaggerated. Thomas settled in the chair across from her and prepared for a typical, routine interview.

 

*** *** *** ***

 

“What?” I couldn’t help but exclaim incredulously.

“Thomas Wagner just admitted he threw the last game due to a huge pay off from the rival team,” Eren laughed excitedly, “I can’t believe it!”

“What happened? Did he slip up or something, why did he say that?” I couldn’t believe it either. The online world had been abuzz after last fortnight’s big football match featuring an unusually lacklustre performance from the New Sina Shifter’s star player. Oh sure, everyone had accused him of intentionally throwing the game, but there’s always that kind of talk after a player had an off day.

“You know what Mikasa’s like,” Eren shrugged, still grinning from ear to ear at the weight of such tangible gossip, “Armin just ran over to let me know. Apparently his PR guy who was with him had to practically drag him out of the room because he just kept spouting off about all this stuff he shouldn’t have. I hope Mikasa got a recording. This is going to be _huge_!”

I waved off Eren as he dashed back up the hall towards the marketing department, no doubt to report this directly to Levi who would be _loving_ the increased sales another Ackerman Controversy would herald. I entered my office and got straight to work. I had a lot to go through today, as Accounts had sent me a huge list of invoice discrepancies I needed to verify the legitimacy of. I was halfway through the first report when a gentle knock rapped against the doorframe, and Marco stood there, smiling with his vapid, docile face.

“Excuse me…” he said quietly. I looked up, my day now totally ruined.

 _Oh, you’re still here_ , I thought coolly.

It had been three days since I had been introduced to Marco and every single waking hour I had done my best to ignore and forget about his very existence. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was exactly that rubbed me the wrong way about this guy, but I just could not stand to be around him. When I was first told I would be assigned a personal assistant at some point in my career, I suppose I had a particular vision for what they would be like. A cute, sweet little girl like Christa… or even someone dynamic, with a powerful personality to match my own.

This _Marco_ character was none of those things. I always considered myself a flexible guy, especially when it came to altering my expectations of people, but this was just so far removed from anything that vaguely resembled what I expected or what I wanted that I just couldn’t stomach his existence. At all.

 _Why couldn’t I be more like Hanji?_ I lamented. She had gone through five different assistants in the last two years alone. Her intense personality coupled with her manic work ethic drove most applicants out after only a few weeks of her tyranny.

I was struck by an idea so suddenly it was as if a light bulb bloomed to life above my head, serenaded by the chorus of a thousand angelic cherubs, bathed in a holy glow so pure and simple it was laughable. _I would make him quit. So long, bland face. Farewell, meek personality. Sayonara, cookie cutter credentials._

When we first met, I had exchange pleasantries with Marco as was my duty. But he had such a weak presence, such an unthreatening handshake it almost made me sick on the spot. I was expected to work with a guy like this? Whose idea was this? Could they not see that there was no way this was going to work? After a brief exchange, Marco was escorted away by a HR representative to fill out some new paperwork.

“Bye, Jean,” he had smiled like some kind of extra in a cereal commercial before faltering, “ah… oh, is it okay if I call you Jean?”

So polite. Now I was really going to be sick.

I shrugged noncommittally and slammed the door behind him, staring at Christa. She had begun to suspect something was up, I think, by the uneasy look on her face. She studied my face momentarily while I tried to best word what I wanted to say.

“You don’t like him do you?” she said simply. I had hoped to phrase my protest more eloquently but, truly, that was the essence of the problem.

“Christa! He’s…he’s so…” I made a face to voice my disgust as words failed me.

“Oh Jean, _why_?” she said defensively, crossing her arms in a no-nonsense kind of way.

“Christa, really, do you see me working with a willowy guy like that? Why didn’t HR tell me they were hiring? I would have liked to have been a part of the interview process I think, _especially_ since I would have to be working with whoever they chose.”

Christa waved a hand towards my computer.

“I emailed you his resume just before. You should take a look, he’s actually really quite competent.”

“But he’s so _young_ ,” the irony of whining like a child while saying this was not lost to me, “how much experience could he possibly _have_?”

Christa frowned at me, tapping her foot. She really didn’t take my nonsense.

“Jean, if you actually read your emails properly you would see that he was top of his class in a double degree in Business and Communications. He interned with one of our business partners in Jinae and was legitimately the best applicant out of the lot.

Besides, I think HR chose him _because_ he was so young. You’re not exactly a veteran yourself, you know, in case you had forgotten you are the youngest CEO Survey Corp has appointed by at least _ten years_ -“

“I know, I know,” I sighed, stopping her with my hands raised in defeat.

I stared dejectedly out of the window. I turned to Christa with a pout on my face. I suppose I was just being churlish now.

“No,” she said, seeing the over the top sad face I was giving her, “this has nothing to do with me. Don’t you give me that look, _I invented that look_.”

She made a face at me that was an even more parodied version of the pained frown I was imitating. Her little nose bunched up and her eyebrows quivered with how hard she was pressing them down into a sulky expression. I couldn’t help but crack up. She straightened up.

“Come on, Jean, give him a chance. You haven’t even really met him yet.”

I assured her that, alright, I would give him a chance. As you said, I haven’t even had a chance to properly speak to him to see what he’s like. Oh yes, and he certainly does sound like he has an impressive work history. Yes, I will read that straight away, thank you Christa.

I shooed her out the door and slumped against it with a scowl. ‘ _Impressive work history,’ my ass_. No way in hell would I ever be getting along with him. I suppose the only thing I could do was just keep him out of my way as much as possible and try to pretend he didn’t exist. Just cool, calm and cordial. I would have to tolerate this until I could work out some way of getting rid of this little waif-like green horn. What a joke.

Coming back to my brilliant idea, I couldn’t help but smile as the thought sprung to life, growing and expanding as I fleshed out the details in my head. _Yes,_ I thought, _this was perfect._

“Come in,” I smiled sweetly at Marco.

He came over to my desk, holding a binder which he set down and flipped open to a specific page. Someone from Marketing told me you’d need these files for the work you’re currently doing…”

He handed me a stack of forms filled out in a tight, neat little script.

“Was it a guy, about _this-“_ I held up my hand a short distance from the top of my desk, “about this tall, looks like a psychotic owl?”

Marco blinked, “ahh… well, yeah, kind of, I guess…”

“That’s Levi, he’s head of Marketing.”

I had no idea why I was providing this information, since, if my plan went according to design, he wouldn’t have the chance to be getting too familiar with anyone.

“Oh I see,” Marco said quietly.

He stood there silently.

“Did you need any help with that?” he blurted out suddenly.

I surveyed him with a steely eye. Well, I could push some of the more difficult ones off on to him, I guess… actually, no, wait, that would be _perfect_.

“Yeah, that would be _great_ ,” I enthused as sincerely as I could, while Marco pulled up a chair across from my desk and started sorting out the files before him.

We worked in silence for a while but I couldn’t help but let my eyes drift back over to Marco. He was just so _soft_ , so _weak_ in his corporate aura. I mean, look at his outfit. White button up shirt and a green sweater vest? What is this, a Sears catalogue?

I scanned one of the accounts I picked up. From looking at all the annotations, transcripts and numbers on just the first page alone I knew it was a doozy.

“Here,” I said, handing the stapled pages to Marco, “this one looks like an easy one for you.”

 _Let’s see Mister Impressive Work History work his way around_ this, I thought smugly.

To his credit, he never complained or asked for help, even when I dumped account after account on him. Even the difficult, convoluted ones. _Especially_ the difficult, convoluted ones. In fact, rather than looking stressed or dejected he looked… _happy?_ No, no, no, this wouldn’t do at all. If I was going to get rid of him any time soon I’d have to overwhelm him so thoroughly that he wouldn’t want to see the insides of these walls again so long as he lived. I wondered briefly what it was exactly Hanji did that made her lose employees like she lost her keys, which is to say, with alarming frequency.

It was only five minutes until I finished for the day though, so I started to idly pack up. At least I could force all of this on Marco tomorrow too to keep him out of my hair. Hey, maybe I could find a spare desk for him somewhere that wasn't my office so he could be distracted all day long and I wouldn't even have to see him.

“Oh and I want all these finished, as soon as possible,” I said, emulating Levi’s authoritative tone he often used on Eren but finishing it up with a pleasant smile. Wouldn't want to be too obvious now.

Tomorrow when he came in to work he could get straight in to finalising these for me and, who knows, maybe I could avoid him the whole day. Or the whole week. With that stack of papers he would be whittling away at those for a long, long time. That would be great. I drove home happily, stopping by the supermarket to buy a few supplies on the way. My stomach grumbled unhappily at me as I browsed the selection of packet pasta mixes and other easy dinner solutions. The mac and cheese called to me. In the end, I couldn’t resist her sweet siren song and I left carrying a large blue box of some faux-gourmet packet pasta and a bottle of milk.

 _Gourmet_ , I chuckled to myself _, it’s goddamn mac and cheese… “gourmet”… phht…_

Back at home I spent most of the evening on the couch flicking through television channels until I settled on some documentary about marine life featuring slow motion clips of penguins getting mauled by seals and things like that. It was really interesting, with the narrator’s smooth, calm voice slowly reciting anecdotal information but at the same time, the visceral imagery was enough to sort of put me off of my dinner. I put aside the bowl of mac and cheese with a dissatisfied sigh. I was the CEO of a major company now. I was an adult. I really had to start eating better.

The documentary ended and the credits rolled while a jazzy tune played over the top. I gathered up my bowl, dumping it unceremoniously in the sink and flicked the kettle on. I watched it boil, riveting stuff. When I went to get the milk out for my coffee, I noticed that earlier I must have picked up the wrong bottle from the store. This was _El Cheapo_ generic store brand milk. Disgusting. This is the worst day ever.  I made the coffee anyway and spent the rest of the evening browsing videos of animals doing stupid things on the internet, which, all in all, made for a fairly good night.

*** *** *** ***

 

“Marco.”

I stood in front of the dark haired man, hands on my hips as I stared down to where he was sitting at a table in the staff kitchen, nursing a bottle of juice and a book between his hands. His eyes snapped up at the sound of my voice and he closed his book quickly, giving me his undivided attention.

“Hi Jean!” he said, chipper for this hour of the morning, his smile far too dazzling for some time before 9AM.

“I have a list of things for you to do today,” I said, presenting him with a printed sheet of dot points, smiling back as pleasantly as I could, though inside my smirk was almost criminal.

Last night, after growing bored of slacking off, I decided I would do Future-Jean a favour and write up a huge list of tasks, all of them really menial that I could give to Marco in the morning. Not only would it keep him working all day, but it would mean I wouldn’t have to speak to him at all, save the first thing in the morning when I handed it to him.

Marco’s eyes quickly scanned down the list, his smile melting into an expression of professional determination.

“No problem, I’ll start right now!”

I faltered a little bit, looking at my watch.

“But you’re not due to start work for another half hour yet,” I said, incredulously raising an eyebrow.

 _You have_ got _to be_ kidding _me!_ , I cried internally, _you’re doing this in your own time now?_ _Being Mister Goody-Two-Shoes just on company time isn’t enough for you anymore?_

Marco started packing up his gear, dropping his book and juice bottle into a canvas satchel he slung over his shoulders.

“I know,” he said, glancing at the page I had given him like it was his life’s calling, “but I want to make sure I get everything done on time!”

He waved farewell and moved swiftly from the room, undoubtedly to begin point one on my wild goose chase of errands. I raked my brain, trying to remember exactly what I had put on that list, and in what order. I was pretty sure I had sent him to go buy milk.

I went around to my office, booting up my computer and watching the screen flicker to life as it woke for the day. Once I was logged in, I opened up my emails and quickly typed out a short note to Eren.

“Hey Eren,” I wrote.

“You don’t need to buy milk today for the kitchen, I’ve sent Marco since he was here early.”

I sent it off and stared out my window at the view of hundreds, thousands of people bustling through the busy streets, going about their days. I settled in to my own work, enjoying the peace and quiet as I prepared some files for our annual investor’s meeting that would take place at the end of the week. Since it was early, my mind was stilled wrapped in the remnant shrouds of sleepiness… a new light bulb went off above my head.

“Hey Marco,” I said, swinging around in my chair, my phone to my ear.

I heard his reply, muffled by the din of foot traffic all around him, clearly he was out there in the throng beneath my window, running through the list I had prepared.

“Marco…” I drawled, savouring a little bit of my own delicious wickedness, “could you grab me a coffee on the way back? Thanks~”

I heard him briefly try to ask what kind before I hung up, snickering a little. It was perfect. He would never dare return without something I had directly asked of him, but now he had no idea what I wanted.

While he sweated about that, he would go and buy just a generic coffee from a generic coffee shop and then I could act really disappointed when it arrived because I _was_ fussy and _oh, Marco, if it isn’t too much trouble could you go and get me another one?_ Maybe I could get him stuck in an infinite loop of running back and forth between the local cafes. That would be hilarious. If he called back, I decided, I just wouldn’t answer _. Let’s see how this pans out_ , I mused.

I went back to compiling notes and figures for the investor’s meeting and I must have gotten caught up in my work because in what seemed like no time at all, Marco was knocking on my door, accompanied by the sweet smell of strong coffee. _Excellent_ , I thought, almost rubbing my hands together in glee _, time to take you down a peg_.

“Umm… I wasn’t quite sure what kind of coffee you wanted…” Marco said awkwardly, setting down a large disposable cup in front of me, “and when I tried to call back you didn’t answer, so I figured you were busy…”

 _Oh this is too perfect_ , I thought, _this is all going exactly-_

“But I remembered overhearing you talking to Eren a few days ago and you mentioned you had bought a latte from that small Italian café around the corner and you really liked it, so I went there and… umm…”

... _according to plan...?_

I stared at the cup. _No, no, no_ , I thought, _this wasn’t how this was supposed to go_. It could have been something, _anything_ and I would have been able to act like it wasn’t what I wanted at all but the coffee from _Volare’s Café_ was to die for. I looked up at Marco and before I could stop myself an earnest “thank you!” tumbled out of my mouth. I almost covered my mouth with my hand. _Goddammit_ , I cursed, _does your evil, evil helpful nature know no bounds?_

Marco’s face lit up so fast I was convinced he was going to strain something.

“I put the milk in the fridges already,” he said, “and I can… go clean the conference rooms now!”

He pocketed my list after finding his next task and left with a short little wave of his hand.

 _Stupid… dork-head…_ I thought sourly, glowering at the door frame he had departed as I took a sip of coffee. _Stupid… perfect coffee._

A notification window popped up in the corner of my screen. I had a new email.

“Jean.” It began simply, “why is Marco cleaning one of the meeting rooms?”

It was signed Eren.

I wanted to write _‘because it’s funny’_ but you never know who could read those emails, so I instead made up some wan lie about giving Marco a break or a change of pace or something. Make it sound like he was doing him a favour. Yeah.

“Oh thank goodness,” the reply email read, “I thought I had forgotten some emergency meeting or something and Levi was going to skin me alive. He threatened to do that because I wore the same coloured tie as he did one day – _and I totally believe that he would do it_.”

“Honestly, Eren, how do you put up with it?” I wrote back.

“Because!” came the reply, as if it were obvious, “Levi is brilliant! It’s an honour to work with him every day!”

“Suck up.”

“Ohh like Marco doesn’t suck up to you…” Eren added an ambiguous winking emote to the end of his text.

I felt instantly hot under the collar.

“No he doesn’t.”

“Dude, he soooo does. People say _I’m_ bad, but they think Marco could give me a run for my money. I agree. Dude is like a puppy.”

“Eren. That’s rude.”

Honestly, even though I sort of agreed with him, I really wanted him to shut up and working under the guise of senior reprimanding seemed to be my only outlet. I didn’t even blink when Marco returned an hour or so later, holding a roll of paper towels that he got from God-knows-where, and letting me know that he was done.

 _Stop looking so happy, dammit, you’re supposed to be anguishing in the face of a horrible job right now_ , I thought sourly.

“Marco!” I said, waving him in and handing him a slip of paper, “take this to Levi for me. You know the guy. Scary hobbit-sized dude. Down the hall, left, follow past the kitchen then right and he’s along that corridor. Make it quick, it’s urgent.”

Marco took the slip from me and I heard his footsteps recede quickly up the hallway. I could have emailed Levi the phone number of that client he wanted to speak to. But this was better. Wear Marco down with running all over the office delivering memos despite having a way more efficient way of doing it. I’m, err… giving him an opportunity to get to know everyone! Jean Kirschtein, you are a _genius._

I kept that up for the rest of the day. Even when I ran out of memos to send to other colleagues, I made up stuff like “just confirming everyone is set for our investors meeting in a few days!” or “just letting everyone know our numbers look really good this quarter!” I didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean. I even sent him to a small finance meeting in my place.

Lounging casually in my chair, checking out the lovely mid-afternoon sky out my window, I had to resist cackling maniacally at my own brilliance. Having a personal assistant wasn’t so bad after all, and when I finally cracked him, I could get a _new_ , _better_ one. Everybody wins! Especially me!

*** *** *** ***

My apartment was flooded with light from the first morning rays peeking lazily from behind my butts, the brash sound of my alarm rousing me from a fairly uninteresting slumber. Today’s ensemble was a particularly striking combination of muted grey suit with a green tie – I looked like a real boss. Perfect for initiating my “Get-Marco-to-Quit-Because-He’s-a-Little-Loser-and-I’m-Way -Too-Cool-to-Have-an-Assistant-Like-Him” schematics. The title was a work in progress.

I was shocked when I walked in to my office to see several neat piles of paperwork lined up across my desk. A quick glance revealed that these were all the invoice discrepancy reports I had started working on a few days ago but… they were all done?

“Good morning, Jean!”

 _Well it_ was, I thought sullenly as I turned to face the chipper voice.

Marco beamed.

“I finished those accounts for you last night,” he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling happily, “some of them were a bit tough but I’m confident they’re pretty thorough – though, if you need me to do anything else with them, let me know…”

 _Oh I can think of something else you can do with them,_ I thought sourly, _you can shove them up your ass_.

“Thanks Marco,” I drawled as sweetly as I could, though it pained me to do so.

These were supposed to keep him busy for ages, but the little nerd stayed back late to finish them? All of them? Give me a break. Now I was going to have to think of something else to keep him out of my hair.

“Is there anything in particular you want me to do today, Jean?”

_Hmm, let’s see. Go hand in your resignation to HR and never come back to my office again?_

My brain raced quickly through things I could force him to do, but still reasonably come out not looking like a bad guy. Aha, that’s it!

“Yeah, actually,” I replied, sitting down at my desk, “I need you to reorganise those filing cabinets in the corner. We have digital copies of all those records but we have to keep the physical copies as well.”

“Sure!”

The happy look on his face was enough to make me sick. He looked like he was genuinely ecstatic about the idea of reorganising hundreds upon hundreds of identical looking manila folders.

“How do you want them organised?” he asked, pulling out one of the drawers and beginning to remove the contents, setting them down on the floor in neat piles.

I paused a moment. How were those files currently organised? I was fairly certain it was in chronological order at the moment…

“Alphabetically. By surname.”

 _That should keep him busy for a while_ , I chuckled.

It was sort of satisfying in a frustrating way how I gave the order and he obeyed. See, this is why I didn’t like him. He was so meek, so eager to please. I need to work closely with someone more strong, more cut throat. Someone who could walk in to a board room meeting with me and help me metaphorically slay the competition in acquiring new contracts or someone who could just take the initiative and complete tasks without requiring orders or direction. HR needed to have hired me a partner in crime, instead, they hired me an office pet.

I did my best to give off an aura of “don’t talk to me” while I quickly ran over the newest emails in my inbox. Server updates next week. Someone in Marketing was selling raffle tickets as part of a fundraising campaign. Reminders that spare stationery could be found in the store room near the staff kitchens. Generic stuff. An email from Hanji caught my eye though.

“JEna,” it read in the noticeable purple, bold sans serif font she always used, “We haev tge Hannes untevuwe tiday with  Nkasa and I was ondernig if mayeb yuo could sit in on it as I wnated to swgh you my direction fr the slpread? Ist at 12 in conferwernfec room 2. Rgearsd, Hjni”

I re-read the email several times. I think she was inviting me to sit in on an interview with the notorious ex-rock star Hannes who had recently come back from a stint in rehab. We had managed to secure the first interview after his alcohol addiction problem became common knowledge and he withdrew from the public eye for almost a full year. I know Hanji was going for a real “bad boy turned family man” spin with this cover story, and she was sure to get a good tale with Mikasa heading the interview. Plus, perfect excuse to get out of the office for a while.

“Sure, see you then,” I typed a quick response and hit ‘send’.

I had expected Marco to try and make conversation and I wasn’t disappointed in that regard.

“So, are you up to anything in particular later?” he asked from where he knelt with his feet tucked below him.

“I’m always busy.”  


“Oh.”

The silence relapsed. Marco didn’t seem too perturbed by it.

“Get up to anything interesting last night?” he tried again about half an hour later.

“Not really.”

Marco made a noncommittal noise in response.

He made no further attempts at conversation until I left to go meet Hanji downstairs.

“Heading out?” he asked from behind a stack of client accounts.

“Meeting.” I said sharply, “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Have fun!” he said in a sing-song voice that grated on my nerves like nails on a chalk board.

On the way down the stairs (it was only one flight, I could walk that), I bumped in to Eren.

“Where are you off to?” I asked casually, hands in my pockets.

“Levi let me out to go to the Hannes interview – he’s actually an old family friend of mine. He used to hang out with my mother a tonne back in the day-“

“Your mother was a groupie?” I laughed.

“Hey!” Eren punched my shoulder churlishly.

“That’s my mother you’re talking about…” he paused thoughtfully for a moment, “though yeah, she was.”

We walked together to the conference room. Mikasa was already there, being fussed over by a woman with an out of control pony tail and glasses. Hanji was shoving a mock up after mock up under her nose, giving her a running commentary on the colours, the features, how she thought this pose or that pose would work for the focal photograph…

“… and if we have a big colour photograph of Hannes in a really casual black ensemble here with just the plain white background it will really make the feature _pop_ and we could add a red tie too, just a small strip of colour to really bring out the contrast as well as using that colour scheme throughout the rest of the spread. The minimalistic approach is definitely going to be making a comeback and we really want to highlight the sense of duality from this interview – the past and the future! Black and white! Old school rock star and newly reformed man! Jean!”

She wheeled around to face me as she noticed us standing by the door.

“You made it!” she bounced over and a pen fell out of the butt of her pony tail. She ignored it.

“Tell me,” she said, almost breathless with excitement, “do you think we should go for a monochromatic duality or a coloured duality? Because I was also thinking a really vibrant orange and blue colour scheme could look really good-“

“I’ll trust your judgement, Hanji,” I cut her off before she really got in to it – it was the only way to stop her when she got on a roll.

I took a seat on the lounge beside Mikasa. She looked at me over the top of a high seated black turtle neck adorned with a yellow scarf.

“Good work on the Wagner interview, I hear,” I said.

She nodded.

“It went alright. I was hoping for something more exciting,” her voice was soft yet as clear and lacking in inflection as usual.

 “More exciting!” Hanji practically yelled from across the room where she had Eren cornered with her designs, “that interview was the best thing I’d ever read!”

“I heard you’ve been assigned a personal assistant now,” Mikasa said, quietly adjusting her hair, “how is that going?”

I shifted my weight mentally from foot to foot – should I tell her the true truth or tell her the same empty cover story I’d been giving everyone else?

“It’s great,” I grinned, and died a little on the inside at the same time, “very good, yeah.”

I think my chagrin was betrayed by my facial features because Mikasa’s dark, expressionless eyes surveyed me for a moment longer than necessary and I couldn’t help but feel that she knew the truth from just a quick scan of my face. She had that sort of look about her, like she could tell when someone was lying. If she thought something was off, she didn’t mention it. She returned to fussing with her note paper.

“Sorry I’m late!” a shrill voice pierced the air and a short blond boy tumbled in to the room in a rush.

“Armin! Where have you been!?” Hanji cried, pulling him away in an instant by his sleeve, “he’ll be here any minute and we still have to set up the lights! Come on!”

The two of them disappeared into the adjacent room where a few lackeys from the design department frantically dashed around, setting up a background area of a large board draped in a clean, white sheet of linen. Armin was one of our best photographers. He’d won multiple artistic awards for his work, and for our magazines he always had a way of making his subjects feel relaxed, leading to really genuine, dynamic images. This article was going to be interesting to say the least.

*** *** *** ***

 

“Just relax, Mister Hannes,” Armin took a few practice shots with his camera, his warm smile almost instantly putting the room at ease.

Hannes was a man with sharp stubble and a face lined with evidence of a lifestyle that was taking its toll on his body. However, the features of his face crinkled into lines of laughter, proof that he still possessed the wild, childish energy that made him so famous in the first place.

“Call me Hannes! Just Hannes!” he chuckled at Armin who faltered awkwardly.

“O-okay, Mi- Hannes. Please just act as naturally as you can.”

Hannes was well accustomed to photo shoots. He leant casually in to the camera with an organic tilt.

“Ohh, very nice,” Armin said, furiously clicking away with his heavy camera that was supported on a thick tripod, “the highlights in your eyes are really sharp here.”

Hanji stood behind him and leant in for a closer look on the digital camera screen.

“He’s right!” she said, voice shaky with excitement, “that black suit and the red tie was a really good choice after all!”

Hannes gave another bawdy laugh and engaged Armin in conversation as Hanji made her way to the corner of the room where I leant against the wall, idly enjoying the proceedings. For once it was nice to just be an observer instead of having to ring lead the show. It was always interesting watching the others do their thing.

“Hey, I overheard you talking with Mikasa before,” Hanji said quietly, her voice dropping seriously.

She took up leaning against the wall beside me, her arms folded.

“You don’t like Marco much, do you?”

I pulled a face. Hanji and I had worked together for years. Honestly, if there was anyone I could admit the truth to here, it would be her.

“What gave it away?” I grimaced.

She smiled knowingly.

“You had been talking about how excited you were to get a personal assistant so you could tackle all your work with a ‘ _partner in crime!’_ -“ she held out her arms in a parody of a dramatic pose I had done once when talking earnestly about my ambitions with her, “- but… now that you actually have one I’ve barely seen you together at all. What’s wrong?”

I took a moment to ponder.

“He’s just not what I was expecting, Hanji,” I sighed, a true sense of despondence creeping in to my voice as I ran my hand through my hair.

“He just seems so… so… lame.”

“Have you even talked with him at all?” she shot me a stern look, “you’ve got to at least try to get to know someone before you can pass a judgement like that.”

I raised an eyebrow to her.

“Like you can talk, _how_ many interns and assistants have you gone through in the last few years?”

She waved a hand dismissively.

“Totally different! I at least _tried_ to like them. In fact, in some cases I _did_ like them, but they just couldn’t handle the stresses of their workload so they quit!”

She fixed me with a serious stare.

“Jean, I know you don’t want to hear it but Marco seems like a really competent guy. I even heard Levi saying something positive about him yesterday after Marco stayed back really late to finish some work for you, or something like that.”

“Uggh, don’t tell me how _wonderful_ he is, _everyone_ has been doing that-“

“Look. Jean,” she clasped a hand to my shoulder, giving it a small shake, “just try. _Try_. It’s so very, very rare to find a personal assistant like that who seems eager to always go above and beyond for the job. You should be treasuring the fact you’ve been assigned a guy who you can dump even the toughest job on him and he will get it done. Just try, and if you still don’t like him… well… I’ll help you get rid of him.”

“Really?” I laughed, “you would do that?”

“Of course,” she smirked, “I said I only liked _some_ of my assistants. I have methods for… _encouraging_ … the others to seek employment elsewhere.”

“Well, what should I do?”

“After this you’re going to go upstairs and you’re going to have a full conversation with him, a _proper_ conversation and then you’re going to see how you feel.”

 

*** *** *** ***

Marco greeted me as soon as I walked through the door.

“How was it?” he asked, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. He looked as though he had been working hard, and only a few stray folders remained in unsorted piles.

I wanted to give him a single word answer and ignore him, I really did, but Hanji’s words rang in my mind, loud and clear. I would give this a shot.

“It was… interesting. I can see why Mikasa gets such thorough interviews now.”

Marco asked something about how, and I found myself tell him. Back in the conference room, after they had wrapped up the photo shoot, we all settled back at the table. Armin and Hanji were tucked to the side, both pouring over the photo previews and pointing out their favourite elements from each shot. I sat between them, and Mikasa and Hannes, who smiled at her graciously.

“The lovely Mikasa Ackerman!” he clapped his hands together, “I’ve heard so much about you and yet this is our first time meeting! It’s a pleasure.”

She silently looked Hannes in the eye.

“The pleasure is all mine, meeting such a prolific member of the music industry.”

“You flatter me, you flatter me…” he snorted happily.

“So. Tell me about your experience in rehab.”

At once, watching her work her magic, I understood why Mikasa was such a brilliant reporter. While most reporters operated on a strict system of questions, designed to eke out specific responses to better tailor a story a particular way, Mikasa let the subject themselves direct the flow of conversation while still guiding it from behind the scenes. Her soft voice put everyone at ease, making them much more likely to talk longer than they maybe would have normally. But it was her face. Totally devoid of emotion. Completely blank and guarded.

That was what truly got people talking. Whenever her interviewee would answer a question or finish an anecdote, she would stare at them with empty eyes for just a moment longer than normal, a trait I had noticed she uses in other settings, to slightly unsettle them. Once they were thrown slightly off their regular groove and still enticed by her sweet voice, they ended up spilling all sorts of things to her. It was quite impressive to watch in action.

“Wow, she sounds amazing,” Marco said, eyes wide, “no wonder she’s always on top of all the breaking stories.”

“Yeah, I guess so…”

The conversation lulled again.

*** *** *** ***

“I can’t do it Hanji, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” I whined, resting my head in my folded arms on her desk.

After several failed attempts at conversation with Marco, I found myself in her office, begging for help.

“You tried talking to him?”

“I did! I did!”

“And what did you talk about?”

“I don’t know- work stuff. Stuff we do in our spare time. Each conversation lasted barely a minute! We have _nothing in common_.”

Hanji adjusted her glasses with a smile, “alright, leave it to me.”

“Thank you,” I crooned and I could have just about kissed her in that moment.

“Oh! Jean, don’t forget about the investors meeting tomorrow – did you organise a caterer?”

I waved a hand at her in dismissal.

“I’ll just call the sandwich place down the road like I always do.”

I got back to my office just as Marco turned the corner.

“Jean!” he called, happily jogging a little to catch up to me.

“What?”

I was in no mood for him right now. Or ever. But right now was no exception.

“I’m about to head home for the day, is there anything you need me to do before I go?”

“Phht, yeah, organise a caterer for tomorrow’s meeting,” I muttered under my breath. I was joking of course, I had no intention of leaving something like that in his hands, “I’m busy Marco, you should get going.”

And I closed my office door in his face. There’s no way I was prepared for what I would find upon beginning work the next day.

*** *** *** ***

I stood in shock in the doorway to my office, surveying the scene before me.

Marco sat in a chair by my desk, head slumped down into the crook of his folded up arms, his back rising and falling gently… he was asleep. I struggled to think of words harsh enough to portray my absolute frustration at this, _this_ … _person!_ There were sudden footsteps hurrying towards me up the hallway and I turned to see Christa dash over.

“Don’t wake him!” she hissed quietly, tugging me away from my own office by my elbow, leading me somewhere down the hall.

“And why exactly, should I let an employee sleep on the-“

My mouth literally fell open. Christa had lead me to the board room where the investors meeting was set to take place later that day and in the middle of the table sat dozens upon dozens of plates of amazing looking food. Tiny cut sandwiches with various fillings, mounds of biscuits and cookies, loaves of golden looking sweet breads and cakes and trays of the most amazing looking cupcakes I had seen – all decorated with tiny sugar flowers.

“Marco was waiting outside when I got here…” she whispered in awe, “and he was carrying all this stuff. He was almost in tears because he couldn’t find a caterer last minute and had been awake all night doing… _this_ …”

I just couldn’t take it anymore. I turned tail and strode back up the hallway towards my office, Christa dithered in the board room, trying to decide whether or not to follow me, though I’m glad she didn’t. I had no idea what my face looked like, but inside I was laughing maniacally. I just couldn’t get this guy to quit. What was his deal? Why was he doing this? Why would he go to such lengths to do something like this?

I stood beside his sleeping form and prodded his shoulder with a firm poke.

He startled awake, his eyes adjusting blearily before landing on my face and he just about jumped out of his chair.

“Jean! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep-“ he babbled, ears reddening in embarrassment, “I’m so, so sorry, I tried to find a caterer last night and I called so many places but they were either already closed or wouldn’t do such a large order on such short notice and I didn’t know what to do so I just made a few things-“

“Marco,” I stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder, staring at him in disbelief.

“Go home, Marco.”

“But-“

“I’ll make sure you get paid for the day, just… go sleep.”

Marco thanked me profusely, either tears or sleep welling in his eyes and I sat back, wondering what on Earth was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh there's Sugar in the Boardroom... that'sthenameofthestoryooohIdidathing.
> 
> If it wasn't already obvious... this fic has more or less been abandoned. I didn't have a solid idea of a direction I was wanting to go with it and then I got bored of it much quicker than expected... I don't want to straight orphan the work though because it's still part of the catalogue, but if you're expecting an update I can only offer you my sincerest apologies and direct you towards my more current works instead.
> 
> Just a reminder that you can see more of my shit in the following places:
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ladymermalaid)   
>  [Tumblr (main)](http://www.ladymermalaid.tumblr.com)   
>  [Tumblr (porny side blog)](http://www.empressmermalaid.tumblr.com)
> 
> Did you enjoy this fic? Chuck me a comment (even if it's just a single, solitary grunt) and you will fill me with such pride and vanity and appreciation I will have no choice but to write more and update more regularly to soak up more of that sweet, sweet recognition. It's that simple!


	3. Alright, He's Not So Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erwin entrusts Jean with an important task, Hanji tries her luck at getting rid of Marco and Jean singlehandedly ruins his career.
> 
> Almost.

I looked around at the faces crowded around the clusters of tables in the minimalistic board room. Heads of departments. Executives. All important people vital to operations were here in this room, as well as executive officers from all the company’s subsidiaries, partners and associates. I felt a weird swell of pride every time I saw someone enjoying the food spread out between all the groups. _Yeah, that’s right,_ I found myself musing, _all that awesome food was made by_ my _assistant_.

 _Ew_ , I thought suddenly, _was that almost a positive thought about Marco?_ Maybe I was coming down with something. I decided then and there that I would absolutely _not_ be eating any of that stupid food. It probably tastes like ass or cheap packet mixed cake. And I was way too good for packet cake. Not too good for store bought macaroni but  _goddammit a man had to have standards._

“Alright, can I have everyone’s attention, please.”

Erwin’s voice was deep and carried with ease throughout the room, as expected from Survey Corp’s esteemed head. He had started this company decades ago as an unimpressive local newspaper, his keen business sense and hard work fostering this bud of entrepreneurship into a multi-billion dollar enterprise.

“It’s great to see everyone again,” he smiled warmly as the room quietened swiftly, the last remnants of conversation dying out across the floor.

“We shouldn’t wait so long between family reunions, huh?” he joked pleasantly, earning a rumble of laughter from the crowd of people, “but – let’s get to it.”

He held up a thin booklet of printed off sheets, identical ones were found in front of all of us.

“If you could direct your attention to the notes I’ve prepared today, we’ve got a lot to cover.”

I flicked through the first few pages of the notes. Looks like we were in for a heavy session.

“Firstly, congratulations to everybody on our excellent turn over last quarter. The marketing department did an amazing job with organising those incentives and promotions, netting us more than 1, 000 new subscribers across all mastheads and increasing sales across the board by at least 4% in every delivery zone.”

There was a mummer of approval, a few claps, and I could have sworn I heard Eren’s voice give a small “yay!” until I saw Levi poke him in the ribs with a sharp jab of his fingertips.

“With that in mind,” Erwin continued, “now is a good time to announce that I’ve been in discussions with Rosewall Media for a few weeks now about a possible merger. Rosewall Media own some of our largest competitors in the industry, including “The Rosewall Herald” newspapers, 3DMG Radio and magazines such as _Colossal_ , which is the main competitor at the moment to _The Garrison.”_

Conversation sprung up at once between the tables as people digested this new piece of information, speculating on the possibilities Erwin would be about to announce with hushed voices. Erwin smiled, allowing people to having a moment’s chatter. The possibility of a partnership or acquisition with one of their main rivals was definitely exciting news, it would open up a wealth of potential new business avenues – from discontinuing the rival papers and building up _The Garrison_ network to influencing the spread and distribution of Survey Corp content throughout new locations.

“It is indeed a very exciting possibility, _however_ -“ he held up a hand, requesting quiet, and the room fell silent once more, “it is still very much an uncertainty. We’ve only begun discussions and negotiations are still underway. I’ll be sending out some information to all personnel who will be working with this in the next few days and coming to talk with you all individually if this is something you will be required for. We will be providing regular updates to the rest of you as we progress.”

I made a mental note to expect a meeting with Erwin sometime soon. Truth be told I had an inkling that something like this was in the works, whispers in the office carried along the grapevine, but I hadn’t received any concrete confirmation yet. Until now.

The rest of the conference diverted into a lot to do with marketing and finance – all vital, important information but not my domain necessarily. I glossed over the information sheets in front of me, only half listening to Erwin’s talking, fading in and out like a poorly tuned radio. I realised with a tremor of surprise that I was holding a cupcake – half eaten. Subconsciously I had picked one up and started eating it while I was lost in thought about the Rosewall acquisition. And it was delicious.

 _Don’t you judge me, cupcake_ , I thought fiercely, narrowing my eyes at it a little bit while I chewed, _you don’t know my life._

By the time the meeting had ended I had eaten three cupcakes. I wasn’t proud of myself, but I reasoned Marco must have laced the batter with tiny amounts of cocaine or something which is why they were so addictive. That had to be the reason why.

I loitered around the board room after the meeting was over. I was hoping to get a chance to speak with Erwin privately before he approached me with any possible information regarding the Rosewall matter. Truth be told, it would be my first big business deal since becoming Chief Executive Officer and I was nervous. I would never in a million years tell anyone, but I was nervous.

I just about leapt out of my own skin when I felt a pair of fingers jab me in the ribs from behind. I whirled around in shock to see a too-wide smile and a buzz cut.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey!” Connie, our resident I.T guy and self-appointed King of the Nerds beamed, slapping my shoulder with an open palm and I relaxed again, shaking my head.

“You know, Connie, most people don’t try and coup de grace their CEO in broad daylight.”

“Yeah but most people’s CEOs aren’t huge jerks who are _clearly_ plotting nefarious, business-y things while snacking.”

I looked at my hand again. _Shit, another cupcake, where the hell are they coming from?_

“I think you’ll find plotting nefarious, business-y things is sort of in the job description, dude-“

“Yeah but this round of mastermind scheming looks _extra_ evil.”

“Huh?”

“You were staring out the window. Eating a cupcake. _Smiling_.”

I stuffed the rest of the stupid, delicious cupcake (oh Lord I had forgotten how much I loved chocolate frosting) in my mouth and made a face at him.

“Anyway, who let you out of the basement?” I asked sourly, crossing my arms. I glanced to the corner of the room where Erwin was still talking to Levi so I had time to waste.

“Who do you think sets all this up, bro?” he grinned, gesturing to the projector Erwin had used intermittently throughout his speeches and the small speakers located around the room for better sound distribution.

I noticed Sasha, the other main I.T girl, dashing around fiddling with all the speakers, dimming the white noise in the room in her wake. She spotted an untouched plate of cupcakes and shot me a poignant look from across the room.

“You guys can take any leftover food if you want,” I called out to her and her face lit up like a small child at Christmas.

“Hey these look different to the usual ones you get,” Connie noted, grabbing a sandwich triangle.

“Yeah, umm…” I rubbed the back of my neck guiltily, “Marco made them.”

“Marco?”

“My assistant.”

“Didn’t know they’d hired you an assistant… “

“Oh!” Sasha bounded over, having caught the last part of the conversation, “is he the cute new guy?”

I frowned.

“Well he’s _a_ new guy-“

“And he made all this food by himself?”

“Yes-“

“Why?”

“Because I asked him to organise a caterer and they were all closed so he took it upon himself to do it…”

Connie laughed.

“I’m definitely going to thank him next time I see him, these sandwiches are the tits.”

“They’re something alright,” I replied absently.

I hastily excused myself, having seen Levi slip out the door and Erwin go back to gathering up his presentation notes and belongings.

“Just the man I was hoping to see,” Erwin said as he spotted me, “how are things?”

“Busy,” I smiled, “no rest for the wicked, huh?”

Erwin chuckled, mumbling “too true, too true” under his breath. He stood up and gestured for me to walk with him.

“So, Rosewall…” he started, glancing at me sidelong to see my reaction.

I ran a hand through my hair with a chuckle, smiling through thin lips.

“It’s certainly going to be a big job,” I said lightly, though the weight of responsibility was starting to press heavy on my shoulders.

“Your first big acquisition in your new role, yes?”

“Yeah…” we turned a corner, following the corridor’s twists and turns at a leisurely pace.

“Well,” Erwin straightened himself up a little bit, “don’t worry too much. There’s a small conference for potential investors in the Rosewall Corporation being held next week – I was going to go myself but in light of recent events I thought it might be more prudent if you were to attend instead?”

“I’d love to,” I replied genuinely, my eyebrows rising in surprise.

Being entrusted to go to this kind of conference to represent the business as a whole _entirely by myself_ was a huge responsibility and of course, a huge opportunity. Considering the Rosewall thing wasn’t even confirmed yet, Erwin must have been taking a huge gamble in letting me go to this. If I messed up, it would make Survey Corp look bad in front of company heads from Rosewall _and_ all of our other competitors which would spell corporate disaster for us. But Erwin was a cautious man. A clever man. When he gambled, he would never place a bet unless he had a guaranteed winning hand but when he _did_ throw down his chips, it was go high or go home. He clearly had a lot of faith in me, and I was truly grateful for that – and for the opportunity to really begin establishing myself as the CEO to the other companies.

“Excellent!” he beamed, “ I’ll send you all the details as soon as I get back to my office so you can start preparing. I think it will be a good chance for you to show us what you’re made of. I’ll organise a more thorough meeting sometime in the next few days…“he stopped walking and I realised we were standing in front of my office.

“Awesome!” I enthused, then coughed, trying to recover some of my dignified professionalism I had worked hard at wearing during business hours, “I’ll keep my eye out for that email.”

I scowled as I entered my office, expecting my eyes to fall on Marco’s ever-waiting form, ready to send him off on some random errand to be rid of him for the day. He wasn’t there. My stomach turned meekly with something that felt awfully similar to a mild strain of guilt as the morning’s events flooded back to me. Marco had gone home.

 _Good_ , I thought firmly, _don’t have to deal with that today._

But even as I worked, signing a stack of notices, reading through some proposed company policy changes to the customer service departments, reviewing a few flagged problems in next quarter’s budget draft, my eyes kept flicking to the door, expecting him to walk in at any moment. It grated on my nerves. It annoyed me to no end. It irritated me and got under my skin and kept poking, poking, poking at the back of my subconscious until I let out a frustrated grunt and hurled a scrunched up post-it note at the bin. The forceful action was oddly satisfying.

Erwin’s meticulously detailed email came in an hour or two after we parted ways. It contained so much information I took one look at it upon opening the attached document files and decided I needed a coffee before I even began to tackle that. I was relieved to see Eren had bought the right type of milk today.

I sipped my coffee, not really enjoying the taste of the instant stuff we had access to in the staff kitchens, but it kept me occupied and focused while I worked through all the information Erwin had given me about the acquisition, the conference and a tonne of other updates that left me rubbing my temples wearily the further in I got. It had been a long day.

 

*** *** *** ***

 

I wandered past reception the next day, hands clamped tightly around a Volare latte. Christa was laughing lightly with a scary faced security guard who had her in a headlock.

“Ymir sto- stop!” she giggled, swatting away the other woman as she spotted me.

“Jean!”

She waved me over and handed me a box.

“Mail delivery came for you,” she beamed, and I signed the ledger saying I had taken the parcel.

I didn’t remember having bought anything recently, but it could have just slipped my mind. The box gave no indication of where it was from, but I was eyeing it suspiciously all the same. I planned on opening it the second I got to my office.

“Hey!” a loud voice nearby made me jump, though it could have been the volume or the energetic slap to my ass that accompanied it.

“Hanji!” I grit my teeth at her. She grinned in response.

“Morning, Big Shot,” she teased. She was clearly in a good mood about _something_.

“What do you want?” I grumbled, tucking the package under my arm and picking up my coffee again.

“Now, now, Mister Grumpy Pants,” she chided as we waved to Christa and walked up the hallway to the elevators together, “that is _no_ way to speak to the kind, wonderful woman who will be taking a certain problem off your hands for the next week or so.”

My eyes went wide.

“You’re going to help me?”

“Of course, I said I was going to. If you still want me to, of course?”

I nodded earnestly. With Hanji on the case it was a dream come true.

“Okay!” she beamed as the elevator doors parted, and she wiggled her fingers at me in a know-all kind of way “send Marco my way and I’ll make the magic happen.”

As luck would have it, I bumped into Marco as I rounded the corner. His eyes lit up when he saw me and I almost felt embarrassed for him. _What a stupid expression_.

“Hey,” I said, feigning as much geniality as my caffeine starved brain would allow, “I’ve got some work for you to do today, so you’ll be helping Hanji. She’s waiting for you in the art department.”

“Oh,” he said simply, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his powder grey shirt, tugging it lower on his forearms, “I’m not really much of an artistic type. I- err, don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

He let out a quiet, stuttered laugh and looked at me with apologetic eyes. I waved him off saying that Hanji was most likely going to have him help with accounts and stuff and it would be _so helpful_ if he went in my stead and I would be _so grateful_ and _thanks Marco, it’s just down the hall on the right up that way_. He said no more in protest, but his face seemed unusually unreadable as he followed my orders. Normally he was the kind who would wear a smile everywhere, just a small one, just pulling at the corners of his lips but today his face seemed heavy. I smirked. It must be working.

I was incredibly busy catching up on online news when a pop-up in the corner of my screen caught my attention. It was an email alert from Hanji.

“ITBEGINS.”

Is all it said. Lack of spacing and all. I felt elated for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t until sometime later I remembered the package I had picked up from Christa earlier that morning, now sitting alone on a shelf on the bookcase that stood near my door. Suddenly piquing my curiosity, I picked it up again.

Unwrapping the mail slip around it revealed a very unassuming brown box. I peeked inside while pulling a face. _What was in the box?_

It was a DVD. What.

There was also an envelope with a thick letter inside. I unfurled it and at once recognised the tight, loopy scrawl of my mother. I should have known it was her who sent me something so weirdly unexpected. I meant to look at the DVD to see what it was, but I instantly found myself lost in the warmth and familiarity of my mother’s penned words.

“Jean,” it read.

“Hope this finds you well, my dear. We have been taking it easy lately. Now that the weather is cooling down I think your father would crumble into dust if he had to do more than just the weeding which I have been making him do. And do you think I hear a word out of his mouth that isn’t a complaint?” I chuckled. I could just about hear my mother, a bustling woman with a stern face, reprimanding my father who always complained about how much work he had to do whenever the weather started to become too hot or too cold. It went on for a little bit about how they had been and what they had been up to.

“We were at the mall last week and I saw this DVD set on sale and I know how much you liked these movies a few years ago so I thought I would pick them up for you…”

I finally looked at the DVD case. It was thicker, indicating multiple movies inside, and with a rush of enthusiasm I noticed it _was_ a set of movies I really liked. A trilogy about adventure, time travel, Gods at war and space, with pirates and giant monsters and robots. It was awesome. I hadn’t seen these movies in _years_. I would have to call my old lady to thank her.

I read the rest of the letter happily. I talked with my family fairly frequently over the phone since they lived a few hours away it was difficult to see them on a regular basis. But my mother always liked sending me letters and little care packages still. She was old fashioned like that. I couldn’t say I minded.

I left the DVD on my desk, fully pumped to re-watch them soon. I had a lot to do for the conference meet over the next week, so I mentally started preparing plans to have a weekend to myself the following Saturday and Sunday, just me, my DVDs and some greasy take away. That sounded cathartic.

Eren appeared at the door some time later, leaning against the frame casually.

“Hey man,” he grinned toothily, moving into the room to plonk himself down on the edge of my desk despite my warning glare.

“So…” he swung his legs childishly, drawing out the “o” sound as long as he possibly could.

“What?”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

I shrugged.

“Not much. Probably just going to watch some movies.”

“Ohhh, like this one?” he picked up the DVD case and ogled it with interest, flipping the cover over to read the synopsis on the back.

“Yeah,” I pushed away from my desk. There was no getting any work done when Eren was around anyway.

“Looks cool,” he said finally, setting it back down again, “never seen it.”

“Aww _what_?” I threw my hands up, scandalised, “ _you’ve never seen it?_ ”

“Nuh.”

“Okay. That’s it. I’ve had enough. You’re coming over this weekend and I am sitting you down and making you watch this series because you will _love it_.”

Eren twisted his mouth thoughtfully, looking towards the ceiling as though recalling something.

“But I promised Armin and Connie we’d hang out,” he sighed.

“Hell, invite them too. Invite Sasha. Invite everybody,” my blood was starting to pump faster and more excitedly. Sure, I had wanted a quiet weekend alone but it was far more important that other people share in the magic of my favourite films. It had been far too long since I’d had a little get together and I was totally down for an impromptu pizza and movie party at my apartment.

“Sounds cool,” Eren grinned then his eyes went wide as a deep voice called up the hallway.

“EREN.”

I glanced at him edging off my desk and trying to hide behind my lamp surreptitiously.

“You’re in trouble with Levi again, aren’t you?” I smiled knowingly.

“No,” he hissed quietly.

He glanced towards the door.

“Maybe,” he corrected hurriedly.

I stood up and grabbed him by the collar while he wasn’t looking. Ignoring his hushed splutters and protests I lead him to the door and pushed him out of it. His look of pure loathing as I smiled, shutting the door slowly was only made more hilarious by Eren’s rushed whisper of “you’re a dick-HI LEVI.”

I got back to work, suddenly in a really good mood at the prospect of spending a weekend just on the down low, socialising with friends. My good mood evolved into a great mood with what followed.

Marco tumbled through the door in the early afternoon, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, his shirt crumpled and untucked, his breathing a little ragged. What exactly _was_ Hanji doing to him? With how he looked, it almost seemed like she and he could have been- _no, no_ , I pulled myself out of that line of thought so fast it’s amazing I didn’t suffer some kind of whiplash, _that is most definitely, 100% the_ grossest _thought to ever exist on the prime material plane and we are going to just stop that train in its tracks right now please and thank you, brain._

He smiled meekly.

“Wow, Hanji is a slave driver,” he laughed.

“How is it going over there?” I asked more out of curiosity for what she was actually doing instead of for his wellbeing.

“Oh good, good,” he said, moving across the room to pick up his backpack I hadn’t noticed tucked by the spare seats across the wall, “she’s getting me to reorganise the Art Department’s filing system…“

I felt a flip in my stomach. The Art Department for some stupid reason kept physical stills and negatives of every photograph, print, design or spread created, as well as records of all props and costumes, sets and equipment and some of the gear itself in a collection of rooms spread out down a rarely used hallway on the floor below. It was a waste of space, but no-one could take the initiative to either clean it up or move it, so it just kind of continued to exist. Until now. I knew Hanji was a corporate sociopath but this was a whole new level. This was mastermind levels of genius.

“Is that _The Starsea Chronicles_?” he asked suddenly, a smile dawning on his face.

A funny tingle spread through me as Marco noticed the DVD. Very few people had even heard of this series, it was never very popular in the box office and had a fairly small, no-name cast, but even fewer people would recognise the cover art from across the room.

“Yeah,” I found myself replying, surprised.

“Oh I haven’t seen that in forever!” he said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“Me neither,” the words were leaving my mouth before I had a chance to do anything about it, “my mom just sent it to me.”

“Oh man, can you believe I’ve only ever seen the first two? I mean, I’ve seen them both like a dozen times but every time I go to watch the last one I just never get around to it.”

“What?” I exclaimed, “the third one is the _best one_. Oh, there’s like, so much stuff from the first two movies explained and they clearly upped the special effects budget for that one because there’s some amazing fight scenes in there and just, wow, _how_ have you never seen the whole series?”

He laughed genuinely, the happiness touching his eyes.

“Well whenever I get the urge to finally watch it I have to re-watch the first two to get in the zone and that’s like, six hours-“

“You watch the director’s cut too?”

“Of course! One of my favourite scenes in the first movie, where Izak is stalking them through the forest, is totally cut out of the normal version even though it’s so really well done but by the time I’ve watched all of that I always get side tracked and never finish it.”

“Oh Izak has the coolest scenes in the last movie though! I’m going to re-watch all of these this weekend with some of the guys – you should come too.”

He bit his lip, eyes vaguely anxious though a smile pricked at the corners of his mouth.

“That would be… nice,” he looked happy, “should I bring anything?”

I waved a hand in dismissal.

“We’re just going to get pizza or Chinese or something, nothing much.”

“Awesome,” the excitedness was starting to seep into his voice, “I-I really look forward to it!”

He checked his watch as he pulled out a small lunch box from his bag and excused himself, mumbling a hurried farewell, a soft smile on his face. I sat at my desk still, looking around the room as I thought about how much fun this weekend was going to be. Getting to hang out with the guys from work… Eren, that Armin guy – he was nice, Connie and Sasha, Marco…

Marco?

Marco.

‘ _Brain?’_ , I found myself thinking as my body froze.

Yes, Jean.

_What… ahem, what… was that?_

We just invited Marco around to our house to watch a movie.

_Yes, yes we did. Would you mind explaining your reasoning for doing this, and for accuracy purposes please show your working out?_

Nobody else has heard of these movies so we got a little overexcited and invited him to join us?

_I see._

…

_Fuck._

 

*** *** *** ***

 

Thursday snuck up on me.

I’d been so inundated with work I barely had a spare moment to think about anything except preparing for the conference on Friday on top of the sudden unprecedented influx of other work that required my immediate attention. I was staying late every night, sometimes up to the point where, when I got home, I simply fell into bed shoes and all. I barely saw anyone else during that time, holed up in my office, just trying to make even a small dent in all the work I had left to complete. I won’t lie, it was tedious.

I saw Eren briefly as he stopped by to get the details of the weekend to tell everyone else. That reminded me of my earlier blunder in inviting Marco to _my apartment_. I grit my teeth. Me and my big mouth. I saw no way out of it, especially since apparently he and Armin had been talking over in the art department and they had been discussing how they were looking forward to it. Uninviting Marco now would just make _me_ look like a huge jerk, and screw cancelling all together. I wasn’t going to be bested by some specky faced nerd. I would be the epitome of a gracious, generous host _especially_ towards less than savoury guests.

Speaking of, I hadn’t even seen Marco for the last few days. Not since Tuesday when he disappeared back to the art department around lunch time. I did find a suspicious coffee from Volare’s sitting on my desk come Wednesday morning though. Still hot. Made exactly as I liked it. But, I mean, anyone could have bought that – I have a lot of friends around here. It was probably Christa, you know how she buys random little gifts for all the staff.

It was late Thursday afternoon and I couldn’t think of anything else except tomorrow. Tomorrow would be my chance. I’d almost finished putting together my presentation slides and I stood in the bathroom, washing my hands for longer than was probably necessary just so I could stare myself down in the mirror, the introduction of my speech mimed on my lips until they felt comfortable and familiar. Tomorrow would be a make or break moment for me. Sink or swim. I had no intention of failing. I hadn’t gotten this far in my career this quickly to choke at a simple investor’s conference. All I had to do was give a brief overview of some of the new company initiatives, nothing major, just make us look good. Make Survey Corp look like _the_ place to be. Make us stand out. I could do that. I lived for that.

Eyes closed, I breathed slowly through my nose, soothing my heart that still fluttered with a feeling I’ve been told was called “nervousness”. I didn’t like it. I opened my eyes again.

“Hello,” Hanji said simply, seeming to appear from the ether behind me.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” I cursed, clutching my heart as I clung desperately to the sink in surprise, “ _don’t do that_.”

“Light weight,” she laughed coolly, glasses flashing in the florescent bathroom light.

“It’s not my fault you’re Bloody Mary incarnate,” I grumbled, straightening myself up sourly.

I glanced at her reflection, making eye contact in the mirror as I smoothed down my hair.

“Wait,” I whirled around to face her, “Hanji why are you in the men’s bathroom?”

Her expression hardened.

“Sasha and Christa are in the girl’s bathroom right now.”

“Why would that stop you going in there?”

“They’re _gossiping_.”

I bunched up my face in confusion, hand gesturing abstractly through the air.

“Why does that stop you going in there? Why are you _here_ instead?”

She smiled widely.

“Oh _Jean_ ,” she gushed condescendingly, “ _you know nothing_ _of the horrors of the women’s bathroom_.”

The ominous tone creeping throughout her voice made me instantly relieved that, no, I didn’t know.

“Anyway!” she chirped, waiting until I was giving her my full attention again, “I’m here to talk to you about Marco.”

Her face became serious and I marvelled, not for the first time, at how terrifyingly comfortable she was shifting from happy and energetic to dead serious. I swallowed thickly.

“What?”

And she shook her head. Just started shaking her head and I couldn’t see the rest of her face through her bangs and I was worried for a moment with how her shoulders were slumped forward until she threw her head back and laughed maniacally.

“Jean-!” she gasped, looking on the verge of tears as she covered her mouth with her hands, shaking with laughter, “Jean- he- ahahahahaha- he- oh my God, no, no, no- okay-“ she ran a hand over her face, smearing it with a bit of spittle, “okay, he- phhht-“

“Hanji. Hanji breathe,” I replied, bewildered.

It took her a moment to compose herself, and when she began talking again it was with a slight tremble as if she may dissolve into fits of giggles again.

“He’s perfect,” she hiccupped, eyes streaming with tears.

“What?”

“Marco. He’s perfect.”

She gripped the front of my shirt, pulling me in closer to her and her lips trembled again, tugged into a wonky smile.

“He’s _done_.”

“ _What?_ ” I repeated a little more dumbfounded, trying to pry her surprisingly strong fist from my clothes.

“The storage rooms – they’re clean. Completely. Organised. Everything fits in one room now. He did it all by himself and during work hours too. He never even had to stay back and I checked it all – it’s perfect.”

She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“ _I even had_ Levi _go over it and he left without a word,”_ she hissed.

That surprised me. It was _that_ clean? That the resident neat freak literally had _no words_? I didn’t believe her. Hell, even after I demanded she take me there and I stood in an immaculate room that I swear wasn’t the same one from the last time I was there, I didn’t believe her. The art storage rooms were a dark, shadowy place full of strange objects and unnecessarily cluttered shelves and tables, a certain evil lurking in the unlabelled boxes casting grim shadows on the murky walls. This place was light, the walls a fresh cream, sunlight streaming over a sparse, meticulously ordered row of cabinets. I didn’t believe her when Marco brushed past with a basket of prop flowers with a quick “hi Jean!” and a smile that made me recoil. I certainly didn’t believe her as I watched him stretch himself onto his toes, straining for just a moment to slide the flowers into a perfect sized slot next to a stack of costume hats and a primly folded pile of coloured fabrics on the very top shelf of the nearest shelf.

“Jean,” she whispered quietly, watching Marco straighten an errant box of photographs, “I’ve been running him off his feet doing this, I’ve had Levi come down here on a _bad day_ and ask him questions. I’ve had Armin drag him to photo shoots and Moblit even spilt coffee on him at one point and he hasn’t even cracked - not a tiny bit.”

She sighed, almost looking disappointed in her own work.

“I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can get him to quit.”

She patted me on the back.

“Good luck. I think you’re stuck with him.”

  
  


*** *** *** ***

  
  


The conference was being held in a building across town, one I was grateful I was fairly familiar with. I watched the minutes tick by on the digital radio lights on my dashboard and dwelled on what felt like everything at once.

 _I don’t think I can get him to quit_ , I mused over Hanji’s words, their taste unfamiliar on my tongue.

I tapped the steering wheel while I thought over the week’s proceedings. _Why? Why couldn’t I get this guy to quit?_ I frowned at a middle aged man in the car next to me who had been staring off in to space in my direction. He noticed me and redirected his gaze back to the traffic lights we were stopped at with a jump.

_Do you really want him to?_

The thought came out of nowhere. If it hadn’t happened inside of my head I would have sworn black and blue that the thought wasn’t my own.

 _Why wouldn’t I?_ I asked myself with knitted brows, trying to cement myself back in to the same resolve I’d been operating under up until that point but no matter which way I approached it, the feeling didn’t seem to sit right anymore.

My subconscious didn’t answer, just left me with an uncomfortable squirming in the pit of my stomach.

I pulled into the underground parking lot under the block of swanky, modern buildings, noting a few smartly dressed people crowded outside. Despite the drive taking me almost two hours from when I left the office that morning, I breathed easy knowing I had still managed to arrive early. I waited outside by the doors for a while, watching small groups come and go as the attendee numbers swelled with each passing minute. I fidgeted with my phone, browsing a few news sites and checking my social media. Nothing particular caught my attention so instead I stepped inside the foyer.

It was a nicely decorated entry, with gleaming tile floors and lots of contemporary art seemingly running with a hand-blown glass theme that complimented the dark wood wall panelling. I skimmed over the people mingling there, looking off-hand for someone familiar I could use to pass the time. Upon finding the room greatly devoid of people I knew, I worked my way towards the back of the room, where I knew a carpeted hallway lead up to the conference room we’d be carrying out the day’s presentations in. As I circled around the stationery groups, I heard something that made me stop in my tracks.

“They’ll let anyone in to these conferences these days,” I heard someone’s clear voice murmur nearby.

I turned and much to my chagrin saw an unfortunately familiar hawk-like face framed by dirty blonde bangs.

“Annie,” I said, unable to prevent my face from pulling into a condescending smile.

The woman before me, looking like the epitome of shrewd business woman in a sleek grey skirt and blazer, gave me a scathing grin in return.

“Hi Jean,” she said, voice dripping with feigned sweetness, “I didn’t think they let assistants come in place of the boss…”

She glanced over my shoulder with disinterest, as if expecting my superior to be somewhere nearby.

“I’m actually the Chief Executive Officer now,” I grit my teeth, never letting my smile falter.

“Really?” she said lightly, eyebrows raised as her smirk widened.

I had the great misfortune of meeting Annie years ago in business school, where she and I had an intense, supposedly “friendly” rivalry according to our mutual college friends. In my opinion, her snooty attitude and scary face meant she was very low on the list of people I would consider a “friend”. We had always tied neck-and-neck for the top of the class and one of the reasons I was so pleased to finally graduate was the fact I would never have to see her ugly, bossy face again… until she was instantly hired as an assistant manager with the San Maria based company Titan Distribution and was promoted to CEO in under 18 months after the former corporate head retired. Me, on the other hand, I had been hired by Survey Corp, which was a far more prestigious organisation but I had to fight and claw my way up from the very bottom of the food chain.

“Good for you, Jean, finally making it,” she beamed, but the smile never reached her eyes.

You could taste the condescending overtones laced throughout her statement. I glared at her in response.

“What can I say,” I couldn’t stop myself from feeding the fire, “it was easy, really. Of course, we’ll be acquiring the Rosewall Media contract soon so it’s going to be a busy year, but it’s really great to see you sticking with the smaller company.”

“Rosewall?” she snorted derisively, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

We laughed. To anyone observing, the dialogue may have seemed light-hearted, amicable almost, but it would only take a single look at both of our mirthless eyes to read the atmosphere correctly.

A few people, dressed in the building’s uniforms, ushered through the groups and people began to move towards the conference room. Without another word, Annie turned on her heels and stalked off, joining two other men who eyed me warily over her shoulder as all three swept along with the crowd.

The conference room was laid out plainly – a speaking area up the front with space for projectors and a whiteboard, and a dozen rows of chairs lined in long, neat rows all facing forwards. It wasn’t until I had taken my seat, right on the aisle edge somewhere towards the back that I was hit with a sudden influx of nerves. I tried to breathe deeply. I was good at public speaking. I could do this. There was no reason for me to feel so unnecessarily anxious.

Once everyone was seated, I listened intently as the day’s agenda was addressed by a stout man I recognised as the organisation head that was hosting us all today. According to his address and the schedule pamphlet I found on my chair, I would be speaking last apparently. This didn’t faze me in the slightest. In fact, I welcomed the opportunity to hear everyone else’s presentations before delivering my own, just to see what I was up against.

A light haired woman took to the floor first, I recognised her vaguely as the owner of a small newspaper distributor that had reached unusual success in the last two years by offering a comprehensive home delivery service with a focus on online channels. It had proven quite popular and now she managed a small delivery network across New Sina. She fiddled with the computer beside her and a photograph of a boxy looking car appeared on the wall behind her, the overhead projector warming to life on the ceiling. She launched in to a spiel about her new environmentally friendly delivery fleet and I zoned out. Now would be a good time to review my notes.

A frigid wash of dread made my blood run cold, prickling at the back of my scalp and I suddenly felt like there was no air in the room. My notes. I didn’t have them. _Did I leave them in the car?_ No. Maybe. _Think, do you remember having them in the car?_ I was drawing a blank. I looked around the room wildly, as though that might somehow help. Perhaps I was simply scared that the people around me could feel the icy chill radiating from my core or hear the hammering in my chest. I grit my teeth.

 _Think, think, think_. The last place I had them… where was it? I was suppressing thoughts of failure and the worst case scenarios with all the mental fortitude I had. With a creeping sense of dread the vision of my folder sitting on my desk at work, complete with the memory stick containing all my presentation slides, graphs and images, was the most recent place I could remember having it.

I had left my notes on my desk.

I had singlehandedly just ruined my own career.

My heart somehow felt as if it had stopped _and_ was beating so fast I was becoming nauseated. My blood ran cold and I wanted to just slide out of my chair and lie on the ground crying. I was an idiot, a stupid, stupid, idiot. I was going to have to resign in shame, just after finding my footing in the corporate high life. I was going to be humiliated. I was going to have to deal with the crushing disappointment of letting Erwin down. I would have to move far away. Far enough away that no-one would remember this and I could start a new life. Perhaps I’d have to go to some remote mountain village where they didn’t even speak a language I knew and become a cheese farmer. The mental image of dirt-stained overalls just about made me scream like a preteen girl during a horror film.

 _Goodbye career_ , I thought morosely, resigning myself to my self-inflicted fate, _goodbye apartment. Farewell mother, I am going to become an alpine-based hermit and nobody can stop me._

Days seemed to pass, speakers coming and going and all the while my watch was ticking down to the eleventh hour. I felt the God of Death tugging on my sleeve. _Ahh_ , I mused, _this is it. I’ve stressed myself out so much I’ve had a heart attack and died._ I found myself becoming kind of happy and relieved that I had died before my speech so nobody would ever have to learn of my shame and embarrassment. There was an insistent tap on my shoulder again and I turned, ready to accept my fate. I was surprised. I hadn’t expected death incarnate to have so many freckles.

“Marco..?” I hissed, a wave of sceptical relief crashing down on me so fast it almost made me dizzy.

“Jean!” his smile was dazzling. _He_ was the one looking relieved.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, leaning down so I wouldn’t have to speak louder than I had to.

I swear the very Heavens opened up above him and basked him in a light of glorious piety when I saw him hold up my notes. Perhaps the light above us had shorted out and was burning brighter. Perhaps he waxed his freckles. Something made him look as though he were a Messenger of the Gods themselves, and I couldn’t stop myself from staring at his eyes, they were so large, and earnest and endearing. He cared. About me. I mean, my success. Even after everything I had done, he never stopped being his own damn helpful self.

“You haven’t missed your presentation yet, have you?” he asked, concerned as I snatched the files from him and stared at them in dumbstruck wonder like someone who had never seen paper before.

“No- God, no, I’m up next, thank God.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness. I came as fast as I could. I saw your notes on the desk this morning when I came to work and I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know if you had copies or if you’d need them and your phone was switched off so I rode here on my bike and-“

“Marco- Marco,” I interrupted his breathless, hurried explanation, “it’s fine, I-“

I heard the current speaker fall silent and a polite smattering of applause filled the room, my heart dropped in to my stomach and began to flip-flop around like a fish out of water. But then I remembered that I had my notes now. _I had my notes, I can do this_.

I touched Marco briefly on the shoulder as I inched out of my seat beside him and strode confidently up to the front of the room. All eyes were on me now. Some of the faces I recognised, which I was grateful for, but a good portion of the eyes staring me down were unfamiliar. The longer I stood under their scrutiny the more confident I became. I was a showman when it came to public speaking and the attention of all these people just fuelled my tenacity.

“Hello everyone,” I let a relaxed smile sweep over my face as I sat my notes down on the table at the front of the room and launched in to my speech.

I would never admit it, but I had rehearsed it several times in front of the mirror in my apartment until I knew each section that would be coming up so I could slip easily to and from subjects, never breaking the flow of my speech as I relayed all of the information Erwin had provided me with. I introduced myself as the CEO of Survey Corp, as most of the people here didn’t know me as such. _For_ now, I thought with a smirk. I spoke about our recent growth and marketing projects (I would have to thank Eren for writing me a three page sheet of dot points gathered from Levi’s thirty page “summary”, like hell I’d be able to read all that) and also of a few green energy initiatives the company would be undergoing.

At first, a lot of the people regarded me with a cool kind of disinterest, a look I recognised as instant dismissal of my opinions and statements due to my age and inexperience. Well I wasn’t promoted to CEO for no reason. In fact, their instantaneous rejection of me, painted across all their bored faces and judgemental frowns only made me happier. It would make it all the more sweet when I turned around and proved my capabilities to these presumptuous jerks.

Walking away from the front of that room, drinking in the professional applause and the change that shifted across the attendees, now viewing me as an equal was exhilarating. My presentation was the last of the day and I came away from it feeling elated. I had nailed it. I had come so close to blowing the whole affair but in the end I had pulled it together and absolutely _owned_ the floor. I had caught sight of Annie during my talk, and was pleased to see that her lips were pressed thin with deep rooted annoyance.

People were already filing out of the conference room as I was caught up in a smattering of various people coming by to congratulate me on my promotion, full of promises to engage in business negotiations in the near future. I hurriedly scanned the room, looking for a familiar face, looking for a familiar head of dark hair… it was like a switch had been flipped and I had something I needed to do.

I just about burst out on to the street, weaving in between people ambling slowly out the doors in sets of two or three, conversing leisurely as they filed outside. I stood on the sidewalk, eyes searching maniacally for my target. He spotted me about half a second after I had spotted him.

“Marco!” I called him over and his face lit up as he pushed through all the people milling around in the weak afternoon sun.

He excitedly started complimenting me on the presentation.

“You did really well! I’m so glad you got your no- hah!”

He gave a squeak of surprise as I threw my arm around his shoulder, pulling him in to a crushing side hug.

“You saved my ass back there,” I grinned, patting him on the back, “I owe you one.”

He stammered out an inaudible reply, his cheeks flushing a light pink under a dusting of freckles. I let him go and he smiled at me, embarrassed.

“No, really,” I pressed, “I couldn’t have done that without you. Thank you.”

It felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been my favourite chapter to write so far for so many reasons. Also the DVD series they’re talking about is actually just the plot to my original story because I'm a lamebutt baby. I also plan on fixing the formatting for consistency throughout all the chapters sometime soon.
> 
> The name "Volare" means "to fly" in Italian, and was the name of my high school text book and was the only word I could think of that didn't sound pretentious when writing it. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me so far - next chapter will be a fun adventure for Twilight Sparkle-Jean in learning that friendship IS magic.

**Author's Note:**

> If it wasn't already obvious... this fic has more or less been abandoned. I didn't have a solid idea of a direction I was wanting to go with it and then I got bored of it much quicker than expected... I don't want to straight orphan the work though because it's still part of the catalogue, but if you're expecting an update I can only offer you my sincerest apologies and direct you towards my more current works instead.
> 
> Just a reminder that you can see more of my shit in the following places:
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ladymermalaid)   
>  [Tumblr (main)](http://www.ladymermalaid.tumblr.com)   
>  [Tumblr (porny side blog)](http://www.empressmermalaid.tumblr.com)
> 
> Did you enjoy this fic? Chuck me a comment (even if it's just a single, solitary grunt) and you will fill me with such pride and vanity and appreciation I will have no choice but to write more and update more regularly to soak up more of that sweet, sweet recognition. It's that simple!


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